


I Didn't Go to See The City (I Went to See It Around You)

by deadpanned



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/M, Female Character of Color, Interracial Relationship, Mentions of Racism, Praise Kink, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:33:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28968366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadpanned/pseuds/deadpanned
Summary: Reeling from the tragic loss of both her parents, Rune finds herself moving abroad, to Japan, with nothing but her winning personality and a carry-on bag under short notice. At her arrival, she quickly realizes that everything is different, and nothing is the same. The language, the culture, the practices and the people are all different—but there is one thing that has remained familiar: her dear cousin, Aran, who is adamant on showing her the ropes, and keep her afloat through her grief.But there is only so much her superstar cousin can do, she comes to realize, as he struggles to balance his skyrocketing volleyball career and his studies at his prestigious school Inarizaki, whose reputation lies in its infamous volleyball club and its players.Thereafter her enrolment, Rune must find a life outside of the one she's left behind and make way to a new country, a new school, and a new love.
Relationships: Suna Rintarou/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Like everyone else in most parts of the world, I am spiralling and am desperately trying to grapple onto anything that brings me peace. Ergo, this Suna fic. Because, yes, he is my favourite and criminally underrated (and what better day to post this fic than on his birthday?)
> 
> I would like to make a disclaimer that I have not read the mangas (working my way there), and have literally just caught up to the series around a week ago. So, if there are any mistakes in terms of cultural practices that I get wrong, I would be more than happy if you pointed them out. I would also like to mention that this fic is set prior to S4, right before they leave for spring nationals and play against Karasuno.
> 
> Enjoy!

_  
_

"Who are you? 

_  
_  
_

"Whoever you want me to be. 

_

****

**_  
_ **

—The O.C. 

**_  
_  
**

▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁ 

**ARAN OJIRO HAD** been born and bred here in Japan, pure street and alley. His parents, however, were not. One look at the color of his skin, at the texture of his hair, and it is given away. 

And so it was a marvel, between the culture shock, gapping customs and practices, how Rune could possibly manage to lead the same life he'd carved for himself. One not without humility, but the nuances that came with it, too. It was blatant—one as blunt as a blade's edge—how they stuck out like crisp strokes of black ink against blank canvases. 

"How do you do it?" She asks, digging her chopsticks into a brick of white rice peppered with chopped nori. "They've been staring all day." 

"That has less to do with what you think and more to do with your being here at all," answers Aran, as she watches the flick of his wrist as he takes the chopstick, digging it into his own box of bento that he nurses in his left hand. He doesn't tinker with it. "Save for the first years that are expected every year, Inarizaki High hasn't seen a new student in years, let alone one such as yourself." 

"You mean Black," she says. 

He points the chopsticks at her. "I mean _American._ "

"And how did you do it?" She asks again. "Because I've been here for two months now and the shock has barely worn off." 

"Wonder never ceases." Aran gets up, and hands the chopsticks over to her. He's holding it by the hilt. "I have been here my whole life and there are still people who treat me as though I am a stranger here. That I do not belong. But..." 

Rune takes the wooden utensils, which still holds traces of the warmth of her cousin's palm. He smiles as he hands it to her, devil's mouth curved into a wicked hook. 

"I won't lie to you, it comes with the territory," he says, chest leaning over his thigh as he stretches to whirl-whirl-whirl the laces of his running shoes tight into bunny ears. "But there's a charm in the curiosity, a magic in the mystery, you'll come to see it soon. It also helps to smile." 

She smiles, all teeth, no cheer. "What could I possibly have to smile about? My entire life has been ripped from right under me, Aran." 

He inhales sharply. Here, under the low-light of the gymnasium, with the echo of scurrying feet screeching against polished vinyl flooring and balls ricocheting against world-worn hands, Aran spine straightens and he exudes—in all but one second—a look of belonging. It's something beyond the maroon jacket and white pants that he, and the rest of the volleyball club, dons. It's a glint in his deep dark eyes.

Rune wonders if it is the same as when she steps into a studio and feels the weight of a paintbrush in the palm of her hand. Does she look like her cousin? Like she wholeheartedly belongs to the art as much as the sport belongs to Aran? 

"Keep looking at it that way and it'll keep feeling the same." The cut of his stature, hulking as it is, makes her feel small as he hovers over her. "Name of the game, Rue. Adapt, overcome, conquer. That's what I did and look what it's given me." 

She flickers her russet gaze at a point beyond her superstar cousin, toward the gym floor. There are boys, from all varying classes, uniformed together by the fox emblem on their chests. She's seen some of them around, second and third years alike, but mostly only recognizes Aran's core group—the Miya twins, who she's come to notice carry a certain celebrity, and Kita, who she sees most beyond the confinements of school.

She cackles. "Friendship?" Her gaze returns. "God, we've been apart for too long, Aran. Where is your sense of shame? You know we've been raised to have little regard for vulnerability." 

He guffaws, seating himself back into the space by her. "No, idiot," he says. "Drive, passion, a raison d'être. But I had to go looking for it and I certainly didn't find it by hiding out here, sulking in the bleachers, not making any effort to make friends in the canteen."

"You've known these people since you were ten."

"And it wasn't easy then, just as much as it won't be easy now," he replies, flatly. "Okay. I have to go, practice is starting. Are you staying here or in the car?" 

Rune considers this but ultimately cringes at the thought of having to sit on the hard, wooden bleachers a minute more. There were worse fates than leathered seats and she tells her cousin as much. In return, he hands her the keys of his car before he bid her farewell. She chucks a peace sign and scurries out of there at the sound of a whistle blowing.

▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁ 

Rune isn't as antisocial as her cousin makes her out to be, she's just always been something of a rolling stone and didn't see the gravity on making friendships when they were always fleeting. 

That's not to say she didn't try. For instance, on her first day at Inarizaki, she was showed the way of the land by her student guide, Sora—a third year with long, pin-straight hair and gunmetal blue eyes—who made it a point to keep in touch with Rune throughout her first weeks. It was a warm welcome. Their relationship now, however, months later had been reduced to furtive glances and awkward waves exchanged as they passed each other in the hallway. 

Then there was Yuma. A second year, like Rune, with a raven-dark bob and cheekbones like broken glass. Yuma was a little more her speed. Soft spoken but confident, and there was a little edge to her. They met in class, thanks to a seating chart, but Rune likes to think of it as the universe holding out an olive branch. 

Quickly, Rune found that the second year was cut from the same cloth as her in the sense that neither of them needed constant communication and reassurance to cement their friendship, it just was. As far as the Orange County native was concerned, Yuma was all she needed—save for her cousin. 

But the latter didn't seem too impressed by her one and true connection. He persisted, ever since her arrival abroad, to seek further. This was the irritating thing about Aran, he spoke almost exclusively in philosophies that frankly bored Rune. Though she'd be remiss to not admit it endeared him, too. It is why, she believes, he is so well-liked. 

Though they run in different circles, Rune can see from the outside-looking-in that Aran is popular amongst the Inarizaki student body, and even with the teachers. He is charming, certainly, but most of all respectful and disciplined—traits that carry great importance, she can tell, and has served her cousin well as far as reputations go. 

There was also, of course, the celebrity by approximation. It is no secret that the people her cousin almost exclusively surrounds himself with are at the epicentre of almost everyone's attention. Everywhere she went, she heard whispers of the volleyball club and the pride they brought to their school. Rune quickly gathers the team's accolades reflects greatly upon the school, and in virtue of the fact, reflects greatly upon their athletes. 

She can count on one hand the amount of limited interactions she's had with the twins—who were like night and day, yin and yang—and their captain, Kita. They were all kind, which surprises Rune, but makes her quickly understand why Aran has been so adamant on wanting her to have the same type of magic for herself. 

There were many days after school where the boys would come over for dinner, and several hours after the fact, and Rune could make out laughter for hours on end. Meanwhile, she locked herself in her bedroom, sketching skies ablaze with unfurling blues and fiery reds—a snapshot of sunsets that she could never get quite right. She was content with doing so, while intermittently sending memes with esoteric references to Yuma in between breaks, but found herself seeing the appeal of having a large, tight-knit group of friends; a family outside one's own instead of the ragtag group she always seems to weasel herself in, wherever she goes. 

The same thought flits across her mind once more, as she strolls down the hallway, satchel hooked at the shoulder, cutting corners to the parking lot. 

She makes it in good time, for the first time finding it without getting lost. A smug smile adorns her petal lips at the small victory. The parking lot is empty, save for the remnant vehicles that are scattered few and far between. Rune gathers that the first half belongs to the faculty, and the second belongs to the students that are involved in extra curricular activities. 

Fleetingly, she wonders if there's an art club and commits to memory that she'll make further inquiries about it once she's engulfed in the warm comfort of Aran's car. 

The process of balancing two boxes of bento in one hand, a satchel and a set of keys in the other is a graceless act, but she manages to trot all the way to the driver's door before she struggles to plunge the key into its latch. 

There's a string of obscenities that Rune mutters under her breath before she is startled by— 

"Hey," a voice, low and raspy says. "Do you need help?" 

With a quick sidelong glance, Rune beholds a boy with mussed up hair that falls over his forehead and parts at the middle like the Red Sea. His eyes are sharp and capture the green hue of Californian meadows.

"What?" She blinks herself out of stupor. "Oh. No. I mean... yes." 

Faint amusement filters in his cat-like eyes but his expression remains otherwise stoic. "So, that's a yes?"

Treacherous, she feels the cut of her cheeks warm. "Yes, please," she says abashed. 

The boy nods before jogging toward her, and it is in his stride that she notes the maroon jacket and white joggers. He's on the volleyball club, evidently, but Rune doesn't recall any memories of seeing him around before. 

The boy is by her side in moments, careful but deliberate in taking the leftover lunches in one hand and taking the key in the other. Before she can even protest he's already unlocking her door and prying it wide open for her. 

Somehow, the interaction is embarrassing. But not one to show timidness, she beams at him and it is returned with a ghost of a smirk. "My hero," she says, before stepping forward and clambering into the passenger seat. Wordlessly, the boy hands her the boxed meal. To fill the silence, Rune adds, "Aren't you late for practice?" 

He shrugs, one arm draping over the driver's door. "Won't be the end of the world." 

"Right," she says. "Well, I thank you for your chivalry...uhm..."

"Suna." He supplies. 

She nods. "Rune," 

"That's a weird name," 

"I'm a weird girl," she remarks wryly.

He scoffs before giving her a strange look she can't decipher and there's no time to, because lightning-quick, he's shutting the door on her and walking away before she can even get a word in. Rune thinks that as far as first impressions go, that went well enough for to be left wanting more. 

Heaving a sigh, she dashes the bento onto the passenger seat before prying her phone out of her pleated skirt's pocket. Her fingers move deftly across the screen as she pulls up her social media account and thumbs in her search engine a brief name. 

_SUNA._


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rune cyber-stalks Suna's social media, laments over LA, and considers joining the art club.

RINTARŌ SUNA IS not a hard man to find, given his peculiar but simple name. 

Fortune favors her after all, Rune thinks, because his profile is unlocked and up to date. Scrolling through his picture logs that are perfectly curated into a specific grunge theme, Rune gets a general idea of who her 'hero' is. 

He's photogenic, for one. And prides himself on his style that consists of a goth mood board: black clothes, chipped nail polish, disheveled hair, screen grabs of Bauhaus and Marilyn Manson, obnoxious signet rings and smudged mascara. 

There are no pictures on his feed of other people besides rock legends from a bygone era. Rune scrolls through some of his most recent posts and lands on a aesthetic picture of Suna's spiked loafers, even under such a simple picture there are dozens of comments, thinly-veiled flirting from a number of people she both knows and doesn't. 

Growing tired of his surface-level feed, Rune seeks his innermost thoughts and quickly finds his Twitter account that reads like an open letter. Most of his tweets are short and sweet, lyrics to punk ballads—boring. But Rune knows enough about social media to know that the real stuff resides in people's likes. 

She's pleased to find a generous amount of memes, genuinely funny tweets, a myriad of viral videos, tweets he is tagged in, and more of the like. She finds herself giggling at most and is relieved to find there is a sense of humour behind that attractive but grim expression. 

After an hour, she gives one last sweep through his picture feed before casting another at her own. It is not as methodical as Suna's but there is a vague color scheme, a few pictures that shows off her nicest angles. Like the volleyball player, her profile is terribly impersonal but curated enough for those from the outside perspective to hazard a guess. 

Rune's style is what most would describe as basic, which doesn't bother her in the slightest. In truth, she's always found the borderline compulsive need to reject what is generally liked as silly. And so, her closet mostly consists of cropped sweaters, high waisted pants, and platform shoes. Her thick, brown hair most often drawn back into a hair claw. 

In California, she often wore her face bare due to the oppressive sunny weather. But in Japan, she's felt more compelled to try earth tones and khôl black eyeliner against her warm sienna skin. 

She hasn't posted a lot since she's moved abroad, and she's enjoyed time being at a standstill. According to her feed, she's still basking in the weather of an endless summer, taking selfies with her fashion-forward friends, snapshot of the spontaneous road trip across the PCA and going to silent discos with her college neighbor. 

Posting anything outside of that lifestyle somehow makes it more real. As though that life doesn't belong to her anymore and she's not ready to accept the reality of it. 

What she is ready for, incidentally, is following Suna and crossing her fingers that he does the same, though she has an inkling that he will after practice. 

She tries her best not to spin tall tales and daydream of what will come of it like she usually does whenever a boy mildly piques her interest. Instead, she distracts herself with looking up the extra curriculars offered at Inarizaki and in return, there are dozens of articles about the infamous school. 

Rune scrolls through some of them, noting that most are about the success rate of their treasured volleyball club; how they qualified for spring nationals. There is even an article on her cousin and Rune feels a sense of pride wade through her. She knew he was good—it's all their family talk about—but read about is something else altogether. 

After reading up on his accolades, she finds herself on the official website of Inarizaki and is relieved to find that there is an art club. She further finds the teacher that is in charge of it, and the days the club meets up. Rune takes a screenshot of it all, hoping that it won't rot in the backlog of screen grabs she never returns to.

Satisfied with what she's made of her time, Rune shuts her phone and leans back against the passenger seat, eyes feeling low. She figures she can slip in a quick nap before her cousin returns. 

Quickly, slumber welcomes her in a warm embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I hope you guys are okay with shorter chapters like this, this fic is supposed to be a fun break from my long a** stories that I write offline, but I am still hoping to make the world feel whole. It might be a slow start, but I hope you guys like Rune!
> 
> Thanks for reading! xx


End file.
